Life Support
by SUITELIFEFAN
Summary: Everyone has dreams of an ideal future, with a good career and a tightly knit group of friends. Little did Kyle know that his "ideal" was far more literal than he had ever originally intended. A (hopefully) heartwarming yet pragmatic story about the realities of adult life. Reviews greatly appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

**Life Support - Chapter 1**

The shrill ringing of the alarm clock on the bedside table cut through the silence of the bedroom with unrestrained vehemence. Kyle Broflovski was shaken out of his slumber by the deafening singular pitch, the sound seemingly amplified by a thousandfold on this very morning. Wincing in pain, Kyle hugged his head in his arms as he tried not to scream at the feeling of a wooden spike being driven between his neural hemispheres.

This was, by far, the worst hangover ever.

Faintly grasping for his blanket, Kyle kept his eyes firmly shut, knowing that he had probably forgotten to close his curtains last night and that uninvited sunlight was probably streaming indiscriminately into his room, ready to flood and simultaneously destroy his fragile retinas. As he felt desperately for the inconsiderate clock, his fingers made contact with its cold metal before accidentally pushing it off the edge of the table, sending it tumbling to the ground. It didn't stop ringing.

Kyle swore loudly in the confines of his own bedroom as he turned to his side. Placing his feet gently on the ground, he forgot about his eyes for a single second, and by instinct, opened them.

The lobotomy had begun.

"Sonofabitch!"

Stringing together a series of choice swear words that his mother would have instantly grounded him for if he had been ten years younger and still living with her, Kyle found the silver lining in his dying cone cells and quickly identified the location of the clock on the ground. Snatching it savagely from the ground, he shut off the blaring alarm and tossed the clock at his bed, sending it bouncing innocently onto his pillow. Gritting his teeth as he took a few painful steps forward, Kyle reached for the curtains and pulled them shut.

Silence and darkness had never felt more welcome.

Kyle had known that his alcohol tolerance wasn't exactly the best in the world, but the exact extent of his social handicap had apparently been lost in the extended length of time he had spent away from the substance and the celebrations of the previous night. His excuse to his diabetes-weakened liver was valid: his adopted little brother had returned to South Park after his first year in college for his summer break, and the Broflovski family welcomed him back with open arms and a tiny celebration with beer and kosher food. Kyle's liver had taken the excuse in stride, however somebody had apparently forgotten to notify his head of the potential intoxication, judging by the dull pounding interspersed with sharp pains that ran through his skull.

Dragging himself fitfully to the bathroom, Kyle pushed his curly orange-red hair out of his eyes. His favorite green ushanka, a memento from his childhood, lay quietly at the back of his closet. As Kyle silently considered the implications of calling in sick to work for the day, a feeling of panic hit him straight in the gut, a feeling that was most decidedly _not _lingering nausea from the previous night. As he hastily checked the date on his watch, Kyle groaned in exasperation.

There was no way he could call in sick to work even if he wanted to.

Laboratory schedules were as competitive as entry to some university fraternities, and Kyle had booked the entire functional genomics laboratory at the South Park Institute of Research for the week to complete his most recent experiment. The work would need one hundred percent effort, and if he were to not show up at the laboratory for any reason whatsoever, he could almost guarantee that his laboratory time slots would be permanently gifted to another result-hungry biologist working at the facility.

In the exclusive yet viciously competitive world of biological research, there was no way Kyle could afford for that to happen.

Cringing with every step, Kyle began the painful process of getting ready for work, starting with a well deserved and necessary pop of aspirin.

* * *

"You have no idea how glad I am to bump into you, Butters. Seriously, I can't thank you enough for this."

The steering wheel in front of him, coupled with Leopold 'Butters' Stotch's insistence on vehicular safety, were probably the only things stopping the almost eternally joyful manchild from throwing his arms around his friend in happiness.

"Aw shucks, that's no problem at all, Kyle! I'm just happy to see you, we haven't talked in a long time!"

Butters' happiness was infectious, even to a hungover and almost persistently uptight Jew. Kyle couldn't help but return his old friend's smile. Even after many years of misfortune, brought about primarily by his parents kicking him out of the house due to his homosexuality and a sadly unreciprocated love, Butters had carried his childhood practice of happiness and goodness into adulthood. His ability to find a silver lining in the midst of every thundercloud was ironically a deterrent in him finding more close friends due to the innately untrusting nature of the majority of people in the town, but Kyle had always admired his old friend for that very talent that made him the "Butteriest Butters" that he knew.

"Yes, we haven't. I'm really sorry about that, its just that things have been so busy at the research facility, its hard to find time for anything else."

"Aw, shucks, Kyle! There's no need to apologise! I'm just glad you're doing well at your job! It's super cool that I have a genius scientist for a friend!"

The smile thrown in Kyle's direction brightened his mood exponentially, alongside the compliment, which sounded so confident and positive that it made him blush slightly.

"...I'm not a genius."

"Well sure you are! Shucks, Kyle, you don't have to be so modest. You were the smartest kid in the class back when we were all kids, remember?"

As his mind glazed past what he recalled was happening in Butters' life since the last time they had talked, Kyle felt somewhat guilty for alienating himself from his friends. Whilst he would have liked for an ideal group of friends as mirrored in popular American sitcoms, reality, with its brutal honesty, had thrown multiple wrenches in the friendships that Kyle had spent his childhood nurturing. He still remained in contact with a sparse number of his childhood buddies, and proper meetups were even more sparse, thanks to Kyle's budding career and the tiny excuses he made to himself whenever somebody from his past asked to meet up.

As he tried to remember what his momentary savior had mentioned during their last encounter, an important detail stood out. A detail that he couldn't believe he had forgotten in the first place.

Kyle was, as far as he was aware of, the only other person besides his parents that Butters' had come out to.

Kyle was surprised at being Butters' confidant regarding his sexuality, especially when considering that the two boys had never been best friends, albeit being relatively close for a period of their lives years back. Butters' reasons for his decision were well thought out. As childhood friends moved away from South Park to pursue their dreams, Kyle had been one of the few that had stayed behind, and the only remaining one that Butters' regarded as trustworthy and relatively non-judgmental. Eric Cartman had disappeared off the South Park radar for a long time, and even if he had been around, he would have never been an active choice. The other boys of South Park Elementary back in the day used to pick on him, and were therefore out of the question. The girls would have ensured that his coming out would become the hottest gossip in the town within the next day.

Kenny McCormick was completely out of the question, for blindingly obvious reasons.

"So...how are you and Kenny doing?"

Kyle's innocent probing into Butters' life appeared to have touched a nerve, as the seemingly permanent smile on Butters' face faltered for a split second.

"Huh? What do you mean, Kyle? There's nothing going on between me and Kenny. Nothing's changed."

And therein lay the problem.

* * *

Snatching a fresh lab coat from the rack of newly sterilised lab gear, Kyle approached the genomics laboratory and pressed his employee's pass onto the electronic card scanner affixed on the side of the glass door. Upon hearing it beep in affirmation, Kyle gave the door a strong push, the smell of formaldehyde used to disinfect the laboratory surfaces instantly snapping him into work mode.

South Park's only research facility, BioSPolis, was set up whilst Kyle was still in high school. The effort made by the city council to place South Park on the map as a research hub turned out, against all expectations, to be the most successful venture ever conceived by the town's substandard city council and inept mayor. The facility put South Park in the spotlight for something that was beneficial to the country, a contrast from its prior reputation as a redneck town and disaster magnet.

The setting up of the facility was the only reason Kyle had decided to return to the town after graduating early from college. A budding scientist needed an outlet, and Kyle's innate Messiah Complex drew him, against his initial plans, back into his laid back "quiet mountain town", with the dream that he would be the scientific savior of a town that seemed doomed to eternal mediocrity.

"Project Code: 0149. Date: 1st of July, 2018. Time: 9:07am. Project Status: Classified."

Kyle threw a quick glance onto the wall-mounted audio recorder in the room to confirm that it was recording the sound of his voice before returning to his experimental setup.

"This is Kyle Broflovski's experiment on functional genomics, day one of experimental phase. This recording is being taken from the genomics laboratory of BioSPolis. All documentation from here on out is confidential property of aforementioned researcher until indication is given otherwise."

Speaking to himself had been an activity that he had to get used to when he first started work at the facility, which made yet another surprisingly good policy when it declared that all researchers were to take down consistent documentation of their work in progress to ensure proof of their endeavors, in the highly likely possibility of other scientists staking claims on similar projects first. Kyle had initially felt silly speaking loudly to an empty room, but eventually found the documentation process somewhat liberating, especially when he played back recordings of his own work to check for discrepancies.

As he set up the machine for microarray analysis, Kyle absentmindedly found himself speaking to no one in particular, setting the tone for yet another serious yet snarkily comical monologue, recordings that his superiors had gained much amusement out of in the past as they heard their youngest charge divulge the inner workings of his mind without restraint.

"Finally...I've managed to book time in this infernal lab. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to gain access to this damn place? This facility is huge, but it has only one functional genomics laboratory. Fucking horseshit, people. Allocate your money better."

The recorder continued to beep at a steady rhythm as it took down all of Kyle's harmless ranting.

"Did I just swear into official documentation? That's right. That was probably the most badass thing I've done since I was in high school, so don't mind me. I might be a professional, but I'm allowed to be badass too, right? This is a redneck town, after all. Well, since all this ranting is going to be edited out later by you bureaucrats later I don't suppose you lot will mind me speaking my mind about some things. If I were to be honest, this recording is the only intelligent conversation I can get out of anyone these days."

Kyle carefully extracted his pre-prepared sample of spliced DNA and loaded it into the machine. His voice switched effortlessly between mindlessness and professionalism.

"DNA sample one is being loaded into the microarray sequencing machine for initial testing. Will proceed with PCR if sample size proves to be insufficient."

Biting thoughtfully onto his lip, Kyle shook his curly red hair out of his eyes as he brought up his self-designed data collection spreadsheet on his laptop.

"I'll have to be honest, I'm still slightly hungover from last night. I know scientists don't usually spend nights chugging alcohol, but my little brother just came home from college, so sue me. It was nothing special, really, just us two and our dad mindlessly emptying a few cans of beer in my childhood home whilst my mother prepared food in the kitchen. Kosher, of course. If Judaism had forbidden alcohol, I still think my family would have partaken in it. Especially myself, since I don't really practice Judaism anymore. My mother would have a heart attack if she found that out about her little bubbe."

He swallowed.

"I'm not sure how much you people edit out of these recordings, but cut out that last bit, please. That was somewhat embarrassing. I'm bringing up old data from a few months back on my computer now. Will proceed with comparative analysis as I wait for the machine to return results."

Kyle took a tentative sip from a glass of Mountain Dew (checking carefully if he had confused it with some lethal chemical) to quench his thirst as he waited for his laggy computer to open the file.

"You know what, I'm actually somewhat glad I'm doing this. Sure, it's still a little ridiculous that I have to speak everything that I'm doing, but it keeps the atmosphere in here active. I knew what I was getting into when I decided on this path, and I know it's thanks to my own decisions that I'm busy all the time, but hey, at least I'm doing something meaningful."

He pursed his lips.

"Something...meaningful…"

Closing his eyes, Kyle allowed himself to be immersed in the peaceful solitude of the laboratory as he waited for the machine to finish its work.

* * *

**Author's Note** - Welcome to Life Support. I have big plans for this story (which is supposed to be a comparative reflection of idealised life and reality), though how far I manage to go about completing it will depend on factors in my own life that are not entirely under my control. I absolutely adore South Park, and I'm glad for this opportunity to tell a story of my own conception based around these characters. Stick around, and I do apologise if my manner of storytelling is too complex. It's sometimes difficult to properly leash the idea monkeys wrecking havoc in my head.

Reviews appreciated.

~SUITELIFEFAN


	2. Chapter 2

**Life Support - Chapter 2**

"Kyle? Kyle Broflovski?"

The sound of his name uttered in a mellifluous soprano, an event completely unexpected in a workplace where everyone was usually left to their own devices, surprised Kyle to the extent that he dropped the remnants of the sandwich that he had been absent-mindedly chewing back onto his plate in shock. Whipping his head around in the direction of the voice, the sight that greeted his eyes caused him to instinctively rise from his seat in mild alarm.

The soft pair of eyes that gazed back at him crinkled in amusement at his comical reaction to their presence.

"Geez, Kyle, talk about an overreaction. I didn't know you were still hanging around Tweek Tweak."

"...Wendy? Wendy Testaburger?"

The brunette nodded her head gently, her flowing bangs swishing from side to side. She looked just like how Kyle would have expected her to look, having maintained a significant degree of youthfulness from her childhood in her present visage. After twenty-odd years of life, Kyle had still never met a person his age who could look simultaneously vigilant and comfortably relaxed as Wendy Testaburger. Her current stance reflected the past perfectly.

"I didn't expect to see you here, I thought you would have left this tiny town after college."

"Likewise."

Kyle extended his hand for a polite handshake, only for the young lady in front of him to fold her arms disapprovingly.

"A handshake, Kyle? Really?"

Kyle's momentary chagrin at his rejected greeting was overcome by surprise as Wendy stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in an affectionate hug.

"It's been a long time, Kyle. I've missed you."

Kyle had no idea if she was just being polite, especially considering that the two had never been exceptionally close as children, with the exception of the one time when they were paired up to raise an egg as a child for a week. Kyle, however, was gentlemanly enough to not reject the sentiment. After a moment of hesitation, he returned the hug with the appropriate amount of fervor.

"Do you have any company here? Or would you like to join me for lunch?"

Wendy grinned at the redhead's earnest civility.

"Well, it's my first day working here, so no, I don't have any company as of yet. And yes, I would love to have lunch with you. Would you recommend anything?"

"I'd recommend that you don't order this sandwich."

The unexpected company was a fresh change from the solitude that Kyle had been used to during his mealtimes at the facility's cafeteria. Though their initial meeting had began with an inevitable degree of awkwardness, Wendy's larger-than-life personality eased Kyle out of his usual protective bubble of polite silence. Within minutes of her taking her seat with a bowl of noodles, the pair was chatting as though no time had passed since they had last met.

Kyle's brain worked hastily to remember everything he could about his old friend and new colleague. A fresh graduate of Cambridge University, Wendy had taken a year off before starting college to campaign for women's rights alongside Sheila Broflovski. Kyle wondered why his mother had never mentioned the girl's presence amidst her group of power-hungry feminists.

"I had a great time in the UK, but I actually started to _miss_ South Park. Can you believe it? I had spent the entirety of middle school and high school just waiting for the chance to leave this place, and the moment I step out of my comfort zone I find myself drawn back in."

Kyle nodded his head in understanding as he sipped his cola.

"That sounds exactly like what happened to me. I wouldn't have come back if this facility hadn't been set up, though. It actually gave me a little faith that this town was willing to at least try to better itself."

"Really? I mean, I know this town isn't exactly the poster child for normalcy, but-"

Kyle couldn't help but interrupt Wendy's comment with a hearty chuckle, an action that Wendy smirked appreciatively at.

"-but there's still a lot more worth coming back for, isn't there? After all, we've spent our entire childhoods in this place."

Wendy's comment stirred slight discomfort within Kyle, a feeling that he struggled to push down.

"Perhaps."

"So how's everyone doing?"

Kyle swallowed nervously at her question, having a sense of what the conversation was inevitably going towards.

"Well...Kenny's still job-hopping between restaurants, car service places...basically anywhere that'll take his work. Butters owns his own florist, and he manages the entire business. Other than those two...I'm not really in active contact with anyone else from school."

The look of stupefaction that Wendy shot his way at that moment would have been comical if the situation had been leaning even one degree towards comedy. Unfortunately for Kyle, there appeared to be zero avenues for humor at that very moment, a single bead of nervous perspiration edging itself past his temple despite the chill from the air conditioning of the cafeteria.

"I think I misheard you, Kyle."

"Oh, right." Kyle tried his best to smile, but could only achieve an awkward grimace. "I haven't seen our favourite fatass in a long time. He pretty much disappeared from South Park after high school. Butters said that he went off to join the military, but knowing his personality I highly doubt that. Personally I think its a relief that he's not around anymore. He gave me grief about being jewish all the way through high school, who knows if he'd still keep up that kind of-"

"Kyle, I'm sorry to interrupt you, and pardon my french, but I couldn't give two shits about the fate of that obese, bigoted, sexist excuse of a human being."

Kyle didn't know whether to laugh or cringe at Wendy's statement.

"You and I both know that you're avoiding a particular topic, Kyle."

Kyle's heart fell into the pit of despair from which it had previously been hanging above.

"...you caught onto that, did you?"

"Kyle."

Wendy pursed her lips disapprovingly, looking so much like Sheila Broflovski that Kyle nearly threw himself onto the ground right there and then to beg for her mercy and forgiveness.

"What about Stan?"

* * *

At the tender age of twenty-two, Stanley Marsh had emerged from complete obscurity and the shadows of infamous South Park, stepping into the spotlight of middle-to-high society with a profession of flair that had existed since the early nineteenth century. It was a job that, whilst well-paying and fulfilling for an artistic soul, surprised nearly everyone in Stan's life when he informed them of his aspirations.

He wanted to be a concert pianist.

The reaction that he garnered from his parents upon sharing his ambition was as juxtaposed as yin and yang. Randy Marsh, clinging on to the hopes that his son would one day become a famous athlete, immediately denounced his ten-year-old son's dream with unrestrained vehemence, bringing up a multitude of sexist and homophobic arguments that brought his adolescent son close to tears in anger and hurt. Sharon Marsh had defended her young son's dream with unparalleled fervor, encouraging him to strive towards his goals and shouting down her husband whenever he begrudged the fact that Stan was "turning more queer" with every touch of the old upright piano that rested in their living room. Young Stanley's passion for classical music threw a rift between the couple, leading to strained family dinners and weekends where Randy would choose to go to the bar and drown himself in his "sorrows" instead of spending his time off work with his family.

Eventually, Sharon's advocacy of following one's dreams beat out Randy's bigotry towards the classical arts. After years of consistent practice alongside his schoolwork, Stan finally found the courage and confidence to apply for entry to the Juilliard School, America's premier college for the arts. Thirteen year old Stanley Marsh made his way across the country to audition for a place in the prestigious school. The entry audition yielded a result that far surpassed everything that he had desired from the trip to New York City.

The balding music professor auditioning him rose from his chair upon Stan's completion of his rendition of Liszt's Gnomenreigen, strode to the door and promptly left the room without saying a word. As Stan and Sharon exchanged confused glances, the man reentered with a conga line of his colleagues, all looking very surprised to see a mere thirteen-year-old sitting at their grand piano.

"Young man, if I might trouble you…"

Stan, at this point a little intimidated by the size of the veritable crowd that had entered the room, looked at the professor in trepidation.

"...could you play something else from your repertoire?"

The teenager bit his lip nervously.

"I could...play a little Chopin for you."

The professor smiled in approval.

And play he did. By the end of the Chopin's second Scherzo, Stan had left the entire room of music teaching staff from Juilliard School a performance to remember. History, as one of the awestruck teachers had blurted out at the end of Stan's performance, was made on that very day.

Stan was on the springboard to musical celebrity. The only thing he had to do was to take the advice of the veterans sitting in that very room.

Forget Juilliard. Don't go to college.

After studying on pianist apprenticeships with a plethora of musical geniuses across the country, Stan Marsh finally made his name at his first concert showcase, an invited "young prodigy" at Carnegie Hall. The event was attended by honoured guests of the maestro under whom Stan had been studying at that point in his musical education, guests of which included talent bookies, Broadway alumni, a considerable number of experienced pianists and Stan's friends and family from South Park.

As Stan nervously tugged at his black lapel suit jacket, he paced around backstage, wondering if he was making a terrible mistake. In spite of the towering ceiling and the massive size of the famous concert hall, Stan couldn't help but feel claustrophobic as he pictured the walls closing in on him, possibly killing him and all of the guests seated in the audience waiting for the show to start. Just as Stan was about to rip out his ebony black hair, a voice diverted his attention, speaking in a tone that was far too matter-of-factly for Stan's present state of mind.

"If you sweat any more, Stan, you're going to have to change out of that shirt."

Stan bit his lip and frowned at the redhead seated amidst a collection of old percussion instruments that had been left behind from a previous performance. The look that the boy was throwing him was tinged with both amusement and genuine concern.

"Thanks a lot. I'm about to sweat out my dinner right here and now, and my _best friend_ can only sit there and scoff at my anxiety."

Stan's jitters were affecting his tone, making his words angrier and more caustic than he had intended, in turn causing Kyle's face to fall, the content grin wiped off his face in an instant. As Stan watched his overly sensitive Jewish friend fiddle wistfully with his thumbs, he groaned in exasperation.

"Good grief. I didn't mean that, Kyle. I'm sorry."

"No, _I'm_ sorry." Kyle immediately rose to his feet and strode purposefully to his anxious friend. "I haven't exactly been a very good best friend. Here you are about to do something that puts you under a load of pressure, and I'm just sitting here making quips."

"Are you kidding me? What kind of friend would bother to fly all the way from Colorado to New York just for a single concert? What kind of friend would bother to sneak backstage to be here for his friend in a time of need? By the way, you've really got to tell me how you did that. Security here's supposed to be notoriously tight."

Kyle sniggered.

"Don't worry about me. I'm a sneaky little Jew, remember?"

The friends shared chuckles at Kyle's impromptu impression of their frenemy.

"Listen, Stan...I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you."

"Aw, thanks Kyle. That really-"

"Wait, Stan, let me finish."

Kyle swallowed, knowing that what he was about to say would be unbearably cheesy, but knowing that he had to say it anyway.

"I just can't believe how far you've come, man. I mean, we both come from this small redneck town in Colorado. Just...just look at you now, Stan. You've achieved so much at such a young age and...I just can't wait to tell people I meet in the future that my super best friend is Stanley Marsh, the greatest pianist of our generation."

Stan stayed silent as Kyle struggled to find his words.

"You might be feeling nervous now, but you and I both know that you're going to blow everyone away with some kickass performance out there. I watched you practice from day to night back home for years, Stan. I can't even begin to describe the amount of faith I have in you."

Kyle started to choke back words as he struggled to maintain an even tone.

"I just can't help but feel a little worried, y'know. This piano thing is going to bring you all around the world...sometimes I wonder if you'll eventually forget about the rest of us. You're going to meet a lot of new people and see a lot of different places, and I'm just..."

He hastily wiped away a single tear that had emerged from his eye.

"I'm just really scared that I'll lose you."

Before any awkward silence could begin to emerge from the heartwarming, albeit sad situation, Stan wrapped his arms around his best friend's torso and squeezed, all his prior nervousness about his performance forgotten. He then tenderly pressed his lips to Kyle's forehead in a platonic but affectionate gesture of friendship. There was no need for further words of comfort or reassurance.

Minutes passed before Kyle began to speak, his words muffled by Stan's suit jacket.

"This is so gay."

Stan chuckled warmly as he tousled his friend's red hair fondly.

"Way to ruin the moment, asshole."

The duo split apart at the sound of voices, undoubtedly the stage managers coming to inform Stan that his performance was about to begin. Kyle unwrapped his arms from around Stan reluctantly.

"I should go back to my seat before they catch me here."

"Yeah...you should."

"Kill it out there. For me."

Stan smiled.

"For you, Kyle."

On that very night, Stanley Marsh, at a mere fifteen years, made musical history with a legendary performance setlist of Rachmaninoff, Liszt and Chopin, a perfectly crafted repertoire that brought the audience to tears, ecstasy and awe in a single evening. Yet, even as Stan stood from the grand piano after the completion of his encore piece, he didn't care for the multitude of talent bookies and musicians cheering from the audience. He didn't care for the fact that he was receiving a standing ovation in one of the world's most famous musical venues. He didn't care that his father didn't approve of his life choices, or that there were people back home who looked down on him for pursuing his dreams.

He only cared for the front row. His mother, standing stock still with proud tears streaming in rivets from her eyes. Next to her, a Jewish boy one entire head shorter than himself, bouncing on his tiptoes in utter excitement and pride.

That was all fifteen-year-old Stanley Marsh needed.

* * *

It had been a long day.

Kyle Broflovski searched his pockets wearily for his house keys. As he fiddled with the lock, fresh memories of the encounter he had had with Wendy Testaburger flooded back into his head. As far as meetings with people one haven't seen in a long time went, their meeting arguably left much to be desired. Kyle silently hoped that future brushes with his childhood friend, which would very likely occur with greater frequency now that she was working at the facility, would be less awkward.

He didn't mind thinking about the past. Memories of the past, however, were his own.

Kyle didn't want to share them with anyone else.

Kyle had never been much of a drinker, but the tensions of the day proved to be reason enough for him to partially dull his senses with alcohol. As he reached tentatively into his fridge to extract an untouched bottle of vodka, his phone vibrated assiduously in his pocket. Upon checking its display, he realised that a new email, one that seemed coincidentally apt for the day, had arrived in his inbox.

Kyle's eyes widened as he read its title.

"Stan Marsh is coming to Denver!"

Kyle, longing for contact with his old friend, had subscribed to his website's email update service, which would inform him of upcoming concert dates and news about the young pianist. After years of waiting, it seemed that Stan was finally making a visit to the state that had raised him. Kyle had always wondered if Stan apparent evasion of his home state had anything to do with a particularly nasty episode that had occurred between them.

There was undoubtedly bitterness that still lingered from incidents past, but there was no denying that Kyle missed this particular part of his childhood. Kyle carefully placed the bottle of vodka back into the fridge and shut it. Switching on his laptop, he quickly loaded up Stan's website and checked for concert dates, knowing that he had to be quick.

Tickets for Stan Marsh's concerts sold out notoriously fast for an artist so invested in classical music.

Picking an ideal date, Kyle's finger hovered hesitantly over his left mouse button as he pondered the implications of his decision.

* * *

**Author's Note** - This story really is a challenge to proceed onwards with. I designed it with Kyle as the focal point throughout the entirety of the plot, but whether or not I'll decide to stray from that decision will depend on how I feel about the text as I plod steadily onwards.

Reviews appreciated.


End file.
